Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Last Year's Man (Leonard Cohen)

The rain falls down on last year's man,that's a jew's harp on the table,that's a crayon in his hand.And the corners of the blueprint are ruined since they rolledfar past the stems of thumbtacksthat still throw shadows on the wood.And the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mendand all the rain falls down amenon the works of last year's man.I met a lady, she was playing with her soldiers in the darkoh one by one she had to tell themthat her name was Joan of Arc.I was in that army, yes I stayed a little while;I want to thank you, Joan of Arc,for treating me so well.And though I wear a uniform I was not born to fight;all these wounded boys you lie beside,goodnight, my friends, goodnight.

I came upon a wedding that old families had contrived;Bethlehem the bridegroom,Babylon the bride.Great Babylon was naked, oh she stood there trembling for me,and Bethlehem inflamed us bothlike the shy one at some orgy.And when we fell together all our flesh was like a veilthat I had to draw aside to seethe serpent eat its tail.

Some women wait for Jesus, and some women wait for Cainso I hang upon my altarand I hoist my axe again.And I take the one who finds me back to where it all beganwhen Jesus was the honeymoonand Cain was just the man.And we read from pleasant Bibles that are bound in blood and skinthat the wilderness is gatheringall its children back again.

The rain falls down on last year's man,an hour has gone byand he has not moved his hand.But everything will happen if he only gives the word;the lovers will rise upand the mountains touch the ground.But the skylight is like skin for a drum I'll never mendand all the rain falls down amenon the works of last year's man.